


they will not write about us

by idolrapper



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Constipation, M/M, Post-debut, Pre-Relationship, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11282112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idolrapper/pseuds/idolrapper
Summary: Woojin can almost hear Seongwoo commentating his thoughts: “Hello, my name is Park Woojin. These are my two truths and a lie: I like Hyungseob, Hyungseob likes me, I have a peanut allergy. Ooh nice, that rhymed.”





	they will not write about us

**Author's Note:**

> i have an exam in two days and i don't know a single personality in this fic but i needed to do this for my mental health (also i'm sorry that hyungseob literally speaks like twice? idk how this happened?!) title taken from [this poem](http://baekchen.tumblr.com/post/121074930920/they-will-not-write-about-us-because-darling).

Woojin’s been thinking a lot lately: if Produce 101 had been a survival show set on a deserted island, he’d never have made it into the Top 11. He might’ve broken the Top 35 based on sheer will and the ability to climb a tree alone but eventually he’d have given into his banana allergy and what Jisung calls an unshakeable naivety and let himself be eaten by a bunch of ravenous contestants. Would he have been able to say no to Seonho?!

“You’d let Seonho eat you?” Minhyun deadpans. He presses yet another button on the TV remote and lands them in the middle of a Final Destination film. Some poor dude’s being crushed under a Buddha statue until blood splatters across the screen. Minhyun sets the remote down and wriggles back into the couch to get comfy. 

“You wouldn’t?” Woojin retorts, trying to visualise Seonho’s puppy dog eyes. It’s been a while since he’s seen Seonho, but if Woojin thinks hard enough he can even hear the familiar growl of Seonho’s hungry stomach. Yup, he’d let Seonho eat him.

“Well, who would’ve won the show then?” Minhyun asks, ignoring Woojin’s question.

“Not you, that’s for sure,” Woojin says, sucking up the last of his chocolate milk until the carton collapses in on itself. Minhyun reaches over to bat it out his hand without even looking.

After some deliberation—Woojin’s fingers tap at his temple, and then slowly fan out in front of his eyes at a particularly gruesome scene on the TV, trying to mentally swallow down the chocolate milk that threatens to make its way back up his throat—Woojin decides: “Seongwoo hyung? I feel like he could light a fire.”

“Wrong. He can’t even open a tuna can. Why do you think you’ve never seen him near the kitchen?” Minhyun says, following the sound of a buzzer he makes through his closed mouth. “Ahn Hyungseob can light a fire. I remember him telling me once.”

Woojin feels the blood drain out of his face. “Who?”

 

 

He hasn’t been avoiding Hyungseob. That’s not it. It’s just, well, Woojin is busy and Hyungseob is busy, and people drift apart. So what if Woojin left Hyungseob’s _i watched the MV, you did so well woojinnie <3_ on read two months ago?

Doesn’t mean he’s avoiding Hyungseob.

But maybe it means Hyungseob’s avoiding him.

“Hyung,” Woojin starts, spine wilting as he perches himself on the end of Jisung’s bed, “Let’s just say you stop speaking to someone for absolutely no reason, and now they’ve given up on you and probably hate your guts. How would you go about making them like you again?”

Jisung stares at him. Then he sighs dramatically, and sits up straight, blanket spilling over his legs as he leans forward. He speaks slowly, a palm massaging Woojin’s kneecap. “And this is entirely hypothetical?”

“Totally hypothetical,” Woojin lies, flicking the silent button on his iPhone on and off, on and off.

Jisung claps loudly, making Woojin jump. “First of all, ask yourself if you really stopped talking to this person for _no_ reason. I don’t care if nihilism is what the cool kids are into these days, there’s always a reason! Dig deep, Woojin-ah.”

“Okay,” Woojin says, bumping his fist against Jisung’s, “I can do this.”

 

 

“I can’t do this,” Woojin huffs, falling back onto his bed. He rolls over onto his stomach, letting his arm dangle over the edge. “I hate thinking.”

There’s a surprised bark of laughter from Daehwi’s bunk bed, followed by the rustle of sheets and Woojin’s mattress dipping under the weight of Daehwi settling himself on top of Woojin. “You’re actually trying?” Daehwi says, pretending to swoon. “Awwww, I heart boys who are in touch with their inner selves.”

“What?”

Daehwi smacks Woojin on the back of the head. “Don’t think, let’s talk.”

Woojin closes his eyes, not even bothering with an ‘ _ouch_ ’. “Nope. Not with you.”

“Hyuuung, I’m a great listener.”

“I didn’t know telling Jinyoung all of my secrets was in the job description?”

“Read the fine print next time,” Daehwi says cheerily. He climbs off Woojin, slipping onto the bed next to him. “Okay, what’s up?”

Woojin doesn’t turn to face Daehwi, because the answer to that question is already making his face burn up. He isn’t even sure if Daehwi hears him say, “The H-word.”

He does.

He squeals, and then slaps a hand over his mouth, dragging Woojin down so he’s lying on his back. “So we’re finally addressing that?” 

Woojin narrows his eyes. “What do you mean, finally? Are we talking about the same thing?”

Daehwi shrugs, his face bright with glee. “Of course. The W-word, L-word, H-word problem.”

Woojin pauses, mumbling under his breath as he tries to figure out what the fuck Daehwi is on about. “Nah, I’m lost. Oh. Is that it? Woojin lost Hyungseob?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Woojin’s chest starts to ache.

Daehwi blinks, eyebrows furrowing for a moment. He hums. “I guess you could put it that way.”

 

 

Woojin thinks about the finale: the number of each rank decreasing as the night went by, Woojin watching from his throne as Hyungseob floated out to sea, on a raft made of sticks and stones. 

If Produce 101 was that kind of survival show, then the prize would’ve been staying on the island. After a while, you have to call it home but there’s always a part of you that wishes you were somewhere else.

 

 

“Have you heard the news? Euiwoong & Co are debuting in two weeks,” Jaehwan announces one morning over breakfast. “Same time as our comeback.”

“Euiwoong & Co,” Jihoon echoes. He’s wandered into the living room in a zombie-like state, pants inside-out and Daniel’s Manchester United shirt tucked into the waistband.

“What? He’s the only one I like,” Jaehwan says, shrugging. He glances at Woojin with a quick smile. “Sorry, Woojin.”

“Why would you be sorry to me?” Woojin says, not before shoveling a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth.

“Firstly, you disgust me,” Jaehwan declares, ticking off his fingers, “Secondly, you know why. Thirdly, in case you didn’t know why, which you probably don’t, you have a big fat crush on Ahn Hyungseob, from Yuehua Entertainment, born in roughly 2005, kind of annoying. Did you need a picture reference?”

Jaehwan definitely deserved the cereal to the face. 

(Woojin still rushes for tissues regardless.) 

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Woojin mutters, crouched on the floor as he wipes away the milk on Jaehwan’s face, plucking away a cornflake or two from his hair. Jaehwan seems to fallen asleep halfway through the treatment. “Why did no one tell me?”

Jaehwan, very much not-asleep, asks, “About him debuting? Or about your crush?”

“I don’t know,” Woojin says, absentmindedly popping a cornflake into his mouth. “I don’t know.”

Jaehwan gags.

 

 

If Woojin had to pinpoint when exactly he’d realised Hyungseob liked him, it was right in the very beginning, around the time they filmed for Episode 6. Hyungseob isn’t subtle. He’s so bad at being subtle that even _Woojin_ realised that Hyungseob, at the very least, admired him as a human being. More than other human beings.

Woojin’s sitting in one of the practice rooms, hunched over a notebook as he scribbles down whatever lyric comes to mind. Hyungseob bounces over, sprawling himself out on the floor in front of Woojin’s line of vision, and shoots a beatific grin up at him. 

“Whatcha doing?” Hyungseob says.

“Writing.” Woojin twirls his pen in his hand, stuck on a word.

“Need any help?” 

Woojin glances up, meeting Hyungseob’s eyes, then down at the number pasted on his sweater. The ‘6’ feels huge compared to Woojin’s ‘24’.

He hands Hyungseob his pen.

And Hyungseob holds his hand. He poises the tip of the pen on Woojin’s palm, against his heart line, thinking.

“What are you doing?” Woojin asks.

Hyungseob hums, “Writing.” He bites his lip. “This is harder than it seems,” he states, right before he doodles what Woojin, with the help of Youngmin, later interprets as a bunny, a puppy and a heart-blob (“Subtle,” Youngmin laughs. Woojin sighs.)

Woojin knows Hyungseob likes him. He’s known for too long. But he never ever ever ever thought he liked Hyungseob back. He didn’t think he _could_.

( _YouhaveabigfatcrushonAhnHyungseob_ rings in his ears for the next two weeks. It makes a lot of things make sense, like how Woojin used to stare at Hyungseob’s mouth, or his red ears, or how he clicks on Hyungseob’s KKT profile every day, heartbeat hummingbird quick at the latest selca Hyungseob’s chosen to use as his display picture, hoping he’ll message but too scared to take the first step. Jaehwan doesn’t need to know that, though.)

It’s so obvious, so unsubtle, now that Woojin thinks about it. Now that he’s thinking. 

He can almost hear Seongwoo commentating his thoughts: “Hello, my name is Park Woojin. These are my two truths and a lie: I like Hyungseob, Hyungseob likes me, I have a peanut allergy. Ooh nice, that rhymed.”

 

 

“Woojinnie,” is the first thing Hyungseob says to him at M Countdown. It isn’t the ‘ _fuck you for ghosting, go to hell, Park Woojin_ ’ Woojin was expecting (hoping for, deserved), but really, deep down he knew Hyungseob was going to be nothing but sweet.

Somehow that scares him more.

“Congrats on your debut,” Woojin says, with a bow of his head. It’s a rehearsed line that he’s proud of himself for not stuttering through (though his _satoori_ does seep through, and Hyungseob’s nose scrunches up in fondness, like it always did).

“Thank you,” Hyungseob says, his smile small and pleased. He looks like a dream, dressed in baby pink and sky blue, a star pasted on his cheekbone from the sticker set someone had been passing around the Mnet building. “You too, on your comeback!” With a roll of his eyes, Hyungseob adds, “Justin wanted me to tell you that you looked hot. Which you do, by the way.”

Woojin runs a hand through his hair, self-conscious, and laughs.

Then, when it feels like there’s nothing left to say, Hyungseob leans in close and whispers, “I finally made it, huh? Are you proud of me?”

 _Always_ , Woojin thinks. “I’m sorry,” Woojin says.

It takes so long for Hyungseob to register Woojin’s statement, that by the time he’s opened his mouth to respond, Woojin is already being whisked away to rehearsal. The glinting star on Hyungseob’s cheek is the last thing Woojin sees before he’s pushed through another door.

 

 

On Friday night, Woojin’s phone lights up with Hyungseob’s caller I.D. Woojin had been playing Go Fish with Guanlin—who sees the call before Woojin does and grins wide, wiggling his eyebrows (poorly. Sungwoon’s been teaching him how.) Woojin heads to the darkened kitchen, sitting on the countertop as he says hello into the speaker, which as of right now is blaring a distant Red Velvet song.

“HELLO!” comes Hyungseob’s voice, so loud that Woojin almost throws his phone across the room in surprise. “Woojinnie!”

“Uh, hi? Seob? Are you alright?” Woojin tentatively asks, keeping his voice hushed. Daehwi has the hearing of a bat, and Woojin does _not_ want Daehwi here for this conversation, whatever this conversation is.

“Never been better,” Hyungseob slurs. Ah, he’s drunk. This is a drunk call. Woojin almost laughs at himself for feeling so excited. “Jungjung hyung snuck in drinks so we could celebrate our debut. He’s a good hyung, that Jungjung.” There’s a pause. Woojin holds his breath, as though he’s watching a suspenseful movie. He thinks he might be having an out of body experience. “I have something important to tell you. Something verrrrrry important.”

“What’s that?” Woojin says, hiding his smile behind his hand.

“I love you!” Hyungseob announces, “I love you soooooo much, Woojinnie, Park Woojin.”

“Hyungseob,” Woojin breathes. His hand clenches around the fabric of his shorts, clammy. “I know, Seobbie.”

“Then why’d you leave me,” Hyungseob hiccups, quieter this time.

“I—” Woojin gulps, throat dry. “I’m sorry.” How can he tell Hyungseob how sorry he is? That he paid Hyungseob dust, that he likes Hyungseob back but never realised, that sometimes he feels so much guilt over taking that sixth spot over Hyungseob, Youngmin hyung, Donghyun hyung, _anyone_ , that it makes him sick. 

“It’s okay,” Hyungseob says brightly, “I forgive you, Woojin. If I didn’t forgive you, we won’t be able to get married.”

Before Woojin can reply, or maybe cry, another voice cuts Hyungseob off, “Hey, Woojin. It’s Jungjung. I don’t know what Seob was saying but uh, sorry on behalf of him? He’s a lightweight, who knew, ha ha.” A moment later, Jungjung whispers, “Please don’t report me. Night, Woojin, see you tomorrow.”

Jungjung hangs up. 

And Woojin goes to bed, this time with wedding bells ringing in his ears.

 

 

At MuCore, Hyungseob had taken every measure to avoid making eye contact with Woojin—it was quite adorable, that Hyungseob for once felt embarrassed—and when Woojin finally found the resolve to go up to him, Hyungseob kept disappearing into a throng of other idols for the rest of the day, standing out as much as he blended in, and that resolve leaked out of Woojin’s body until he was left with a puddle at his feet.

So Woojin does what anyone in his position would do, he goes home and has a drink. It’s only a glass or two of soju, taken from Jisung’s stash. Just enough to give him a little Dutch courage, so he can do this thing that he should’ve done ages ago. He’s not going to drunk dial Hyungseob. He’s made a choice, and that choice is—

“What the hell are you doing?” follows a Jisung-sounding gasp.

Woojin’s eyes go wide, and he kicks an empty bottle under his bed.

“You know what,” Jisung says, standing by the door. “I don’t wanna know. Do what you gotta do and I’ll leave you to it.”

When Jisung still doesn’t leave, Woojin sighs and points out, “Now you’re internally dying because you made it sound like I was jerking off. Just go, hyung.” 

Jisung narrows his eyes, body exiting the room but his head still poking around the door. “Alright, alright, I’m going. But please don’t jerk off. You’ve already stolen my booze, don’t commit double the sin under my roof.”

“Yes, hyung!” Woojin promises, pulling up Hyungseob’s number on his phone.

“Oh, and Woojin?” Jisung says through the closed door, “Say hi to Hyungseob for me.”

“Hyung!”

“He’s talking to Hyungseob?!” yells Daehwi. The doorknob jiggles before there’s a yelp, and then silence. Finally.

Woojin takes a final gulp of soju, and clicks dial. His phone rings for what feels like an eternity, until it stops right before Woojin’s about to hang up, and Hyungseob is saying hello, his voice clear but hesitant.

“Hey, Hyungseob,” Woojin says, curling up on his bed, “Let’s talk?”

 

 

“If you were stranded on a deserted island, what three things would you take with you?” the interviewer asks the group. The microphone is passed down to Woojin, in amidst the screams of their fans at Jihoon’s saccharine, “My best friend, Jinyoung, of course.”

Woojin holds the mic up to his grinning mouth, and thinks about it: “I’d bring a notebook, someone who can light a fire, and a bottle of soju.”

**Author's Note:**

> translations: [vietnamese](https://circus17.wordpress.com/2017/06/30/trans-oneshot-chamseob-they-will-not-write-about-us/).
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/twinjinx) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/millennium) ♡


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